Fix You
by Genim Stilinski
Summary: Based on the song "Fix You" by Coldplay. At sixteen years old, Sam Winchester is turning to heroin to cope with his unrequitted love for his brother. Can Dean stop him before it's too late? WINCEST DARKFIC
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Hey! Before you read, please know that due to it's dark nature, it's kind of a hard one to write. I don't know how often I will be updating, and my other stories take precedent.

* * *

Sam slid to the floor in the bathroom of the motel of the week, rolling up his sleeves for what felt like the umpteenth time since they got here. Things were getting rough- Dean was hurt pretty badly the last hunt (now on bed rest), Dad was being an insufferable ass, and school was hell. It was hard to tell which of the last two was worst, but Dean was definitely taking precedent in his mind. He was stuck in the hotel room, waking up only for food and restroom usage. Dad was off hunting the beast that had infected his eldest son with god-knows-what venom. Thus, Sam was almost entirely alone.

He had already re-salted the door and windows, making sure to use extra, per his father's orders. He checked his brother's fever with a palm to his forehead, which had gone down a bit. He woke Dean up a while ago to eat some soup, not that he could keep down much of it. He needed to tend to himself now.

That used to mean taking showers mid-day to quell the painful erections that Dean inspired. Now, it meant holding a lighter under a spoon full of powder to make it something he could shoot through his veins. Yes, there was poison in him. But it was the only way to silence his needs. Truth be told, he needed Dean a hell of a lot more than words could express. There was want, sure, but it was so much deeper than that. One thing was for sure- falling in love with your own brother was bound to be a disaster.

Thus, he placed a rock of heroin in the center of his shiny silver spoon, mixed in with a little water, and took his brother's lighter to the bottom. He always used Dean's lighter; it was symbolic of the drug burning away the pain of his addiction to Dean. It took his mind away, from the man in the other room, and from pretty much everything else he had to deal with. Somehow, his schoolwork wasn't suffering from it, so what was the harm?

Sam sucked the white liquid relief into his one syringe, which he had thoroughly sanitized (he wasn't stupid, after all), and he placed it flat against the crease of his arm. It had been a while since he had been so dependant on it. He was on the fast track to becoming an addict. Last time Dean had been hurt, it had taken about a week to kick it. A painful detox it was, but necessary. Somehow, neither he nor Dad found out.

The needle pressed painfully into his vain, a practiced hand was sure to be in the right place, and he placed his thumb firmly to the end, pressing the drug into his system. It burned like fire in his arm, dulling out as the calm set in. Sixteen years of miserable life was silenced in an instant. Here, in his high, he could be free.

It was at that point that Dean shot upward in bed, breathing heavily, and dripping sweat. He surmised that Dad's remedy of weird herbs he was forced to swallow after getting hit in the face with the monster's goo-like poison was responsible for his sudden alertness. It must be working. He looked around quickly, sweeping the room with his eyes, as he had been too out of it as of late to know his surroundings. The salt lines looked good. The room was nice. But something was missing…where the hell was Sam? It then occurred to him that the only light in the room was coming from beneath the bathroom door. Sam must've been in there, but everything was silent. It was strange, hearing nothing from the bathroom when Sam was there. Usually running water would accompany moans and gasps, which Dean tried to ignore, as it went straight to his dick; or a flush of the toilet; or something. It was too quiet for his liking. Something was off.

He slid out of bed, quietly padding over to the closed door in the corner. A tentative knock was administered by a worried Dean, while he listened for any sign of movement. Nothing.

"Sammy?" He called, "Are you alright?" Once again, nothing. He turned the knob slowly, pushing the door inward. The sight before him was not one he was expecting, or remotely ready for. Sam sat on the tile floor by the tub, silver spoon, bag of white rocks beside him, and Dean's favorite lighter. A needle stuck haphazardly out of his arm, as if abandoned. He wasn't moving. Dean wasn't sure how he got to the floor, but he was suddenly checking for a pulse. It was there, and Sam turned his head.

"Dean?" He mouthed, breath barely coming through to make sound. As large as he really was, he suddenly looked so small, like the little boy Dean used to care for when he was a child himself. It was frightening.

"Yeah, Sammy, I'm here." He choked back the tears that threatened to fall, sinking further to straddle his brother, placing a warm hand on one of his pale, cold cheeks. It was freezing in the room, and yet, Sam didn't seem to mind.

"Are you better now?" He sounded so innocent, looked so innocent. It was terrifyingly reminiscent of his three year old self. When Dean was seven, he had caught the flu, and still had to take care of Sam. The whole time, his little brother asked the same question throughout the day.

"I think so, Sammy, but you don't look so good." He finally had the sense to reach down and remove the needle from his brother's arm, placing it on the floor next to his other drug paraphernalia.

"I am so…high right now. And I'm so sad." He began to sob uncontrollably, slowly shuddering beneath Dean.

"Hey…Sam. It's okay." He held the weeping boy to his chest tightly, rubbing circles into his back, just like he used to when Sam would cry as a child. He stopped doing it when Sam was about ten, as he had decided that Sam was too old for that sort of coddling.

"It's never okay!" He near shouted, though muffled against Dean's chest. "You don't love me!" That hurt. A lot.

"How can you say that, Sam. I love you more than I love anyone." More than myself, he meant to add, but couldn't seem to say.

"Not like that, De." He sounded annoyed, frightened, angry, and somehow rather resolute at the same time.

"Come, on, Sam." He stood pulling the younger man with him. "Let's just go to bed. We can talk in the morning." He followed obediently, though avoiding his own bed, and slid into Dean's with him. But it was okay. They both needed the comfort.

* * *

When Dean woke the next morning, there was no sign of Sam. The blankets on his side of the bed were pushed up, and a quick glance told him that there was a note on the table. Thus, he pushed himself awkwardly out of bed, and rushed over to read it. Sam's handwriting was slightly more illegible than usual, but he could still make out the words:

_Dean, _

_I went to get us some coffee from the little shop down the street. If you still want to talk about it, I won't protest, but I want you to know that it's not going to be easy to hear._

_I'm sorry._

He didn't even put his name at the bottom, which was unusual for him. The note slid from Dean's hands back on to the table, and he gently sank down in the chair facing the door. It wasn't a particularly long wait, but with the inevitable conversation looming, it felt like ages. Dean needed answers. Like, why the hell was Sam doing drugs? When did he start? Why?

Sam returned before he thought too long on it. He had two to-go cups in his hand, stacked, so he could open the door. He gently placed them both down, went back to close the door, and sat down in the other chair. Dean took his coffee, gulping it down as if it were the booze he really felt like having, and scolding his tongue for it. He bit back a hiss at the burn, inwardly swearing at his own short-sightedness.

"Sam, I think you know what I gotta ask you first." He started, hoping to get it over with.

"If you're wondering if I'm high right now, I'm not. I haven't had any since last night."

He tapped his fingers absentmindedly on his coffee, trying not to fidget any more than he had to. He needed a fix. Badly.

"Good." He placed his hands in his lap, unsure of what to do with himself. It wasn't exactly the kind of conversation he ever planned on having, and it was a bit confusing. "So, when did you start?"

"Why don't I just tell you the story, from the beginning, and that way, you can just listen. I know that this is hard for you." He looked up, catching his brother's nervous eyes.

"Yeah, okay Sammy." He leaned back in his seat, trying to replace his cool façade, which both men knew was a lie.

"About a year ago, I started to notice myself change. It was little things, really. I realized that I liked to watch you train with Dad. You had, and still do have, this grace about you; when you move in a fight, you move with purpose. I chalked it up to hero worship at the time." He paused, looking up at Dean for any sort of reaction. He had none, so at least he wasn't freaking out yet.

"Then, I began to get rather angry when random chicks would flirt with you, and you did nothing to discourage it. It took me forever to realize that I was jealous." Of them, he wanted to say, but didn't want to reveal anything too early.

"After that, it would just be stupid, everyday things. I would get so wound up at the lightest mistaken touch, or the way your voice would get kind of gruff when you were angry. Suddenly, I found myself becoming obsessed."

"What are you saying, Sam?" Dean asked, looking rather confused.

"I'm saying that I'm in love with you. I love you more than I should, and that scares the shit out of me!" He began to raise his voice, as the tears from last night returned. "I knew you would never feel the same. So one day, about three months back, I decided I didn't want to deal with it any more. I stole some money from Dad's wallet to buy some drugs from this kid I knew at school."

"Dude, are you that fucking stupid? Do you really think that in all this time, I never felt the same? When I started begging Dad for my own bed, that was because being so close to you was dangerous! I don't know how many times back then I had to sit on my hands just to keep from reaching out to wrap myself around you while you were sleeping. I told myself that it was wrong, and that Dad would kill me if he knew the thoughts I had about you. If you had told me…well, things might have been different!" He stood up, began to pace, and rubbed his hand over his mouth in shock of what they admitted to one another. And then, there was still a matter of the drugs.

"Would you be with me now?" Sam ventured, hoping for an answer in his favor. Dean stopped dead in his tracks, and turned to him.

"If Dad found out, you know we'd be dead."

"He doesn't have to know." Sam stood, taking a few long strides to stand in front of Dean. "Please?"

"You need to get clean, first. It won't work if I have to worry about you like that."

"I know. But I can't go cold turkey. That kind of shit could kill me."

"Let me help you, Sam." He quietly begged, pulling Sam closer to him by wrapping his arms around his waist.

"You do know it'll take a while for me to wean myself off of it safely, right?"

"Yeah, but I'll help."

"I know." Sam pulled away, heading for the bathroom. "I need some now, before I jump out of my skin." Dean gulped, frightened, but knew it was the truth.

"Okay, Sammy. But I wanna watch. I don't need a repeat of last night." He hesitantly added the last bit, trying to gauge his brother's reaction.

"One condition…" Dean nodded. "Don't tell Dad?" It was more a fearful question than anything, which made Dean chuckle slightly.

"Sure, Sam. We're in this together now."


	2. Chapter 2

If there were two things that the Winchester boys knew about drugs, it was that they were a pain in the ass to come off of, and that if they were caught with them, they'd be dead. Unfortunately, with their dad around more and more, it became increasingly hard not to get caught. Dean held onto the heroin, and all of the stuff Sam needed to use it, as their dad was far less likely to go digging though his stuff. After all, John had noticed that Sam had been acting strange lately.

And if they thought it was hard to keep Sam's addiction a secret, it was even harder to do so with their relationship. In John's waking hours, they walked on eggshells. They had to be careful; lingering glances and touches would certainly be noticed. At night, though, they could be together. True to his word, Dean refused to be too romantic with Sam till he was clean. Thus, they would settle for snuggling up for a while. Cop show re-runs had never been so appealing until they meant holding one another for an hour or so.

Dad came home about a week after Dean found out about the drugs. He had ganked that SOB one state over (that thing moved fast!), and came home in the middle of the night. Dean woke up immediately, where as Sam, who was still a bit high, slept right through his noisy return. He had a nasty gash on his forehead that Dean had to stitch. Through the loud conversation and medical treatment, Sam didn't even stir.

"What's up with Sam? Doesn't he usually get annoyed with us for talking so loud?" John asked, wincing as his raised eyebrow pushed at his stitches.

"He's just had a long day. He's fine." Yeah, "long day" meaning bad batch of white powder. It was too pure. Dean immediately flushed the stuff, and went to another dealer to get some for the road. It was a miracle that Sam didn't O.D.

"Alright." Suspicion leaked into his voice, but he trusts his boys. He pushed it aside.

The incident was forgotten.

Two nights later, they moved into the next hotel room. There were only two beds, and no available roll-away for them to rent. Thus, John would have the bed closer to the door, and Dean and Sam would have to share. It happened sometimes that they would only have two beds (though John was fairly adamant that they were too old to share), but it couldn't have happened at a worse time. Lord knows what would happen if their dad woke up to the sight of them spooning.

So they lay silently until they hear the all but gentle snore from the other bed, and then they make their way to the bathroom together. Sam hadn't had a fix since they left the last town, so he was a bit on-edge. Unfortunately, it was harder to wean him off of the drugs than they had first imagined. Of course, they started small, decreasing his dose size. Then, they started skipping days. It was only a matter of time before he'd be able to stop entirely, right? But for now, Sam needed his heroin.

Dean brought the small pouch with everything they needed into the bathroom. He carefully measured the powder, sure not to give any more than his brother needed, and handed the spoon to his brother. Sam took the lighter Dean offered, lighting it on the first try. He placed the spoon above the flame, flicking his eyes between the melting drug, and his brother cleaning the syringe. It always went the same way; it became a familiar, comforting pattern for the two of them. Except, when all was said and done, Dean felt rather melancholy, and Sam felt guilty.

This night was different. As Sam pressed the plunger forward, allowing the heroin to seep into his veins, they hear a loud knock on the door. They sat in stunned silence; Sam's body felt too heavy and rubbery for him to move, and Dean couldn't think of what to do next. Unfortunately, he didn't have to. John picked the lock, and burst in to find his two sons, on the floor, with drugs.

"What the hell?" He was honestly confused, slightly terrified, and thoroughly pissed. He saw everything- the needle, the packet of powder, the lighter, the spoon. He wasn't an idiot. He knew what it was for.

"One of you better start explaining." He spoke through his teeth, failing dismally at keeping calm. It was exactly the sort of tone that frightened Dean the most. But, he managed to get up, and lead his father out to the main room. He shut the door behind him, attempting to protect Sam from whatever was about to happen. Knowing their dad, it could be anything from a civil conversation to a fist to the face. Luckily, it was the former.

"Sit." He commanded, pushing his son down on the edge of his bed. "Talk."

"We thought you were asleep." He rationalized, mostly for his own benefit. He was still a bit shocked.

"I woke up." John crossed his arms over his chest, standing still, directly over Dean.

"I gathered." He muttered, unconcerned whether he was in trouble or not. "I didn't know Sam was doing drugs until about a week ago. Now, I'm trying to help wean him off them. He's willing to try, but I couldn't just trust that he'd do it on his own. I keep his drugs, so I know when and how much he takes. It hasn't been easy, but we're making progress." He looked down at his shoes, fearful of what John might say next.

"Why didn't I know about this before?" He sat next to Dean, trying to listen as best he could.

"We were both afraid of what you'd say. Besides, I can handle it on my own."

"Why hasn't he stopped taking them yet if you knew a week ago?"

"It's too dangerous just to stop taking heroin. By how much he was taking before, it could have killed him." John breathed a heavy sigh of resignation. His son was on drugs, and he had no fucking clue.

"We were gonna try to add an extra day in between hits, starting next week. He's finally starting to adjust to going more than a day." Dean offered, hoping that his father would see the light at the end of the tunnel as he did.

"Why'd he do it, Dean?" A single tear strolled down his face, threatening his tough, hunter visage.

"He just needed help, and didn't know how to reach out. But it's okay now. When he needs to talk, we talk." He looked up, placing a hand on his father's shoulder.

Moments seemed to pass before Sam stumbled out of the bathroom. He was too high to care that his brother and father were sitting on the end of his bed. He simply collapsed behind them. John got up, took his keys, and walked out. The faint rumble of his truck disappearing down the road told Dean that it'd be a while before he came back. Thus, he scooted up the bed, and wrapped his arms around Sam, who had become slightly disturbed by his father's behavior.

"He doesn't understand, Dean." He choked out, burying his head in his brother's chest.

"Its okay, Sammy. I'll take care of Dad. Don't worry about him."

"Okay." He mumbled, just before falling to sleep.

* * *

A very tired John Winchester returned early the next morning. Sam's long, gangly frame was curled up against his brother, who also looked mildly contorted. Somehow, he couldn't pretend that the peaceful looks on their faces would remain after they woke. Then, he noticed their hands intertwined. As many times as he had seen them awkwardly pressed against one another, this was definitely a first. _It's probably nothing, _he thought to himself, pushing it to the back of his head.

He collapsed in his bed, thinking on how to break the news to his boys when they woke, before sleep overtook him. It had, after all, been a long night.


	3. Chapter 3

Dean woke stiff- Sam's head was resting on his ribcage, he was bent funny, and his wrists were pushed back, due to the awkward position of Sam's hands. And since when had they started holding hands in their sleep? Dean was at a loss when it came to his memory of it, so they must have been asleep. A quick glance to the other bed told him that their father had returned, and he looked to be out cold. Thus, he untangled himself from Sam and slipped into some clean clothes from his duffel.

The notepad Dad always left on the table for writing quick notes was splayed open before him. He was going to get some food for the three of them, and he needed to let them know, but he didn't want either of them to think that something was wrong. It had been the first time he had slept with Sam so close since they finally spoke about their feelings, and he was the one to tell his father about the drugs. Either way, him leaving wasn't the brightest idea. But, he really wanted Dunkin Donuts, and there was one down the street. Maybe, he could get Sam one of those coffee coolatas he liked so much as a way to make up for leaving. Dad was easier. He'd just need to be sure to get a jelly donut.

Thus he put the pen to the paper, and rather than just saying he was going for breakfast, he specified Dunkin Donuts. That would keep them placated. Dean slipped the keys to his baby into his jacket pocket, right before putting the note on his pillow. Sam should see it before he panics. He eased the door open, cursing at its squeaky hinges, and made his way to his car.

* * *

Sam woke up slowly, allowing his eyes to remain shut while he did a sort of self inventory. His right leg was asleep to the knee, _damnit, _he thought, as was his right arm. He was definitely on his right side. He stretched out, starting with his legs, trying to ignore the pinprick sensations that shot through his limbs. He reached his arms outward, half expecting to hit into Dean. However, he only hit empty air, followed by cool mattress, where his brother should have been. Eyes shot open at the realization that he was alone in bed. Dad was on the other bed, snoring away, and there was a note on Dean's pillow.

Sam's relief was near tangible as he eased through the note, glad that Dean didn't sound freaked. That would have sucked, too. If Dean couldn't handle cuddling up for the night, it would put a serious kink in their relationship plans. _Oh god Dad…_there was little chance that he didn't see the way Sam and Dean had slept. The panic returned, but not because of Dean. It was surprising that their dad hadn't already beaten the shit out of the two of them, but there's no way to know if it'll stay that way. Thankfully, the sound of a key in their door lock kept him from thinking on it for too long. Dean came back in, bag held with his teeth, and drink caddy in hands.

"I saw the note." Sam knew that Dean had probably left it there on purpose.

"Good. Now come get your breakfast before your coffee shit is all melted." Sam lit up, noticing the icy, whipped cream covered beverage in the caddy. He rolled out of bed, falling on the floor, and rushed over to get his breakfast. After all, any time they got Dunkin Donuts (since most of the time they were in little backwater towns that never had them) was better than Christmas morning.

John heard the thud on the floor, and woke immediately.

"What's going on, boys?"

"Dean brought back Dunkin Donuts." Sam supplied before Dean could even open his mouth. It was times like these that he marveled in his brother's childlike tendencies. Even at sixteen, with all he has seen and done, Sam could still (on occasion) be as chipper as he was in kindergarten.

"Get any jelly donuts?" Their father asked. Dean pulled two out of the bag, and set them on a napkin on the table.

"Of course I did, dad. I also got you some coffee." Sam yanked the bag out of his hands to grab at his two donuts, one glazed, and one toasted coconut. "And slow down, Sasquatch. You're gonna make yourself sick. That, or give yourself a brainfreeze." He noticed that Sam hadn't stopped sucking down his coolada since he picked it up.

John laughed at his son's behavior, and felt the smile ramain, as a testemant to their few true family moments. This happened to be one of them. For a moment, they could all forget about everything wrong in the world. They could just…be. Dean took his breakfast back to his and Sam's bed, which earned him a pout from his younger brother, who followed almost immediately. John followed their lead, taking his own breakfast back to bed with him. Even in the silence that accompanied their meal, they were together, and that was all that mattered. John then remembered what he had to tell them.

He waited until the boys were finished eating, watching as Dean took all of the trash to the small trashcan in the bathroom. Sam simply smirked, seeming pleased with the small favor. They usually didn't act this pleasant to one another. He filed the interaction in his brain for later, and waited until Dean sat back down to speak.

"Sam, Dean. I have something I need to tell you." Both boys got to the edge of the bed, facing their father, looking rather intent- almost worried.

"I talked to Bobby last night, and he's agreed to let the two of you stay with him until Sam's better."

"What?" They said in unison, which was rare, and rather shocking to hear. They looked at each other momentarially, before Sam spoke.

"We have it all under control, so why can't we stay here?" _with you, _the unspoken words hanging in the air. Sure, Sam didn't always agree with his father, but this felt an awful lot like being sent away. Like a punishment, almost.

"Listen. I know that Dean's doing a good job of making sure that you're taken care of. But right now, I don't know how to treat this situation. Bobby's a hell of a lot better with this sort of thing, and he can be around a lot more to keep an eye on the two of you. Like it or not, this is something I just can't help you with. I need for you to get better." The truth of his words stung at Dean, who watched as his brother's shoulders fell in resignation. Truthfully, they both knew that drugs and hunting were a bad mix, and Dean couldn't be distracted on a hunt because of Sam. They were going to have to sit a few out. Besides, if (heaven forbid) something were to happen to Sam, something related to the drugs, Bobby would know what to do a lot better than Dean would.

"So, when do we leave?" Sam spoke quietly, looking down to his hands.

"You and Dean are gonna take the impala, so you guys can head out whenever you're ready." He had the deecency to look sorrowful, despite the fact that he was glad to have them driving into better hands. He knew that neither of them wanted to go, but it had to be done.

"I guess," Dean spoke to Sam, placing a hand on one of his still too narrow legs, "You should get dressed. I wanna get there before dinner." He half smiled, reassuring his brother. Sam slipped off the bed and into the bathroom with his duffel. Both men watched as the door closed, and then turned back to one another.

"Next time you have something to say like that, can you give me the heads up? I can't help if you don't." Dean allowed the annoyance to plague his voice. John said nothing, prompting Dean to gather his stuff to put into the car. Obviously, his father had no more to say to him.


	4. Chapter 4

Sam looked out their motel window, seeing that Dean was already waiting for him in the Impala. He heard his father moving in the room behind him, gathering his own belongings. He was off to God knows where, for whatever case struck his fancy. Either way, he hadn't said a word to Sam since their talk. It was irksome to say the least.

Thus, Sam grabbed his bag and walked out without saying another word. As best as he could tell, his father couldn't even be bothered to say goodbye (though truth be told, he was frightened to let his son leave). He trudged up to the car, throwing his bag in the back seat. Dean watched him shut the door a bit more roughly than necessary, but decided to let it be. Instead, he pulled out, and started on the highway towards Bobby's house.

Three hours of silence and they were both annoyed with the lack of conversation. Trouble was, neither was sure that the other would want to talk. For Sam, it wasn't that he was upset with Dean, but he couldn't trust that Dean wasn't upset with him. Dean, meanwhile, was worried that Sam was angry with him for not standing up to their father. Either way, it seemed as if the silence was suffocating.

"Hey Sam," Dean started, trying to clear the air.

"Yeah, Dean?" Sam didn't look at him, and fixed his eyes out the window.

"Is it okay if I break my own rule about chick flick moments?" Sam's eyes became large out of surprise, and he turned to look at his brother.

"Uh, sure." He replied, entirely unsure as to what else he could say. With that, Dean pulled the Impala over to the shoulder, put it in park, and put in the emergency lights. He faced his brother, and scooted a bit closer before he began to speak.

"Sam, I know you don't want to go to Bobby's, but can we at least be happy that we're going together?" The words stunned Sam like none other had before. He'd always been the one to forget to look for the silver lining in anything.

"Yeah. I'm glad you're coming with me." He reached out, returning his hand to where it belonged; in Dean's. Dean turned the emergency lights off, and got back on the road. They still had a few hours to go, and they hadn't had lunch yet.

* * *

When they arrived at Bobby's house, they were in considerably better spirits. Sam was a bit antsy, though. Somehow, being confined in the car for so long made him feel the need for heroin more than when he was able to move around in the hotel room. But, he wouldn't be getting any till tomorrow night. The fact was maddening. How the hell was he gonna last? Well, for starters, Dean could help.

Bobby opened the door relatively quickly, as if he'd been waiting anxiously. Then again, the rumble of the Impala could have given him all the warning he needed to get the door. The smile on his face told Sam that his first guess was probably not too far off the mark. Dean smiled back, greeting him with a hug. Sam shrugged and waved. He wasn't much for physical shows of endearment, unless it was coming from Dean. Bobby knew well enough, and settled for placing his hand momentarily on the gangly teenager's shoulder.

Bobby moved away from the door, allowing them both in. "So, are you guys hungry? I've got some spaghetti cookin'."

"Spaghetti sounds really good right now, Bobby." Dean affirmed. Sam just nodded, not being in much of a talkative mood. After all, the older man knew his secret, and knew that his father couldn't handle him. It was rather embarrassing, whether he was trying to get clean or not.

"Alright, well, it's gonna be a little while." All three men moved to the sofa in the living room. Bobby and Dean sat down, and Sam decided last minute to sit on the floor. It was by no means comfortable, but at least he could look at them.

"So Sam," Bobby started, "What's this I hear about drugs?" The youngest of them frowned, putting on his best 'hurt puppy dog' look. He was hoping not to have to talk about it.

"Dean…" he murmured, hoping for his brother's help on this one.

"It's okay, Sammy. He needs to know." Dean tried his best to coax it out, without pressing too much. Sam sighed, and moments passed before he finally got the courage to speak.

"I am a heroin addict. I'm trying to get clean, which Dean's helping me with." He stared at his oversized hands in his lap, as he couldn't look in his mentor's eyes.

"But why'd you do it, kid?" The sorrow was evident in his voice, and Dean's breathing became heavier.

"I just couldn't cope. Thus, it was either drugs, or suicide." Sam looked up, seeing the panicked, widened eyes of his brother.

"You didn't tell me that, Sam." He could see the hurt inside his brother. He'd meant to hold that bit of information, and keep it to himself, but it just slipped out. For sure, if Dean was accepting enough of him with the drugs, he could look past it. However, the stunned silence that hung in the air had him a bit worried. Sam stood up, and sat on the arm of the sofa, pulling Dean into a tight embrace.

"I'm sorry, Dean. I didn't want you to worry more than I had to." He spoke the half truth, looking to Bobby for support. But, he got up, and served the spaghetti instead. Evidently, it was one of those brotherly moments he didn't want to interrupt. But, it came as a nice reprieve from the tense conversation.

After dinner, Sam and Dean headed off to bed (taking the bed in the spare room), per Bobby's instruction. Apparently, they both looked like they were lacking sleep. Both of their small duffels were placed in a corner, and that's when he saw it. Sam reached his hand down, pulling Dean's bag just a bit father open to see the little packet of white powder. It had such a hold on him; he gravitated towards it. It was like, suddenly, nothing else existed, except for him and the heroin. _No Sam, _he told himself, _fight it. This isn't really what you want. _That was when he felt a strong arm wrap around his waist.

"Come on, Sam. Wait till tomorrow. Otherwise, you'll be taking a step backwards. Don't think about it." It came out as more of a plea than anything. Dean was desperate, wanting so badly for his brother to be better. He couldn't possibly understand what Sam was going through, but he still needed to help.

"Dean, I don't know if I can do it. It's like my skin is crawling with this insatiable need. It's not usually this bad. I don't understand." A few tears streaked down his pale cheeks, which Dean wiped away with his free hand.

"Maybe I can help…you know, distract you or something." He mouthed against Sam's ear.

"How?" He didn't get his answer in words, but in the press of Dean's lips to his cheek. They trailed on as he turned himself to be chest to chest, bringing them gently to the soft lips he wanted so badly. His hands roamed, tickling their way down Sam's spine, ghosting down the back of his jeans. Sam wrapped his lengthy arms around his lover, pulling him tightly, pressing his denim clad erection against Dean's. Moans were exchanged, and they pulled each other to the full sized bed.

Sam felt his back press against the cool mattress beneath him, which he pushed himself up further onto, as Dean climbed up his body. Sloppy kisses kept them busy, as the older man struggled to remove their clothing. Somehow, they both managed to disrobe without breaking apart for too long. Dean was the first to pull away, for breath, and to speak.

"I want you, Sam. I'm tired of waiting for you to be clean." He breathed, pressing his forehead to his brother's.

"Take me, Dean." He purred, voice becoming unnaturally husky; seductive. It didn't take telling twice for Dean to pull the tube of lube from the bedside table, which he placed there slightly before he caught Sam eying his drugs. It had been meant as an extra incentive, a reminder of what was to come once he let go of the drugs entirely, but now was a vehicle for Dean's desire.

Dean pushed slicked up fingers one by one into his brother's tight hole, scissoring and curling as he went. He wanted to make sure Sam was good and ready for him; he didn't want to cause pain, but take it away. Sam gasped and moaned, first from the sting, and then for the pleasure. Dean ran his fingers over a bump, and much to his surprise, Sam arched, drawing in lots of air.

"Shit, Dean! Do that again!" He clenched and unclenched his eyelids, before Dean complied. "Fuck!" It felt so good. _Must be his prostrate, _Dean internally remarked.

"Are you ready for me yet, Sammy?" He growled, uncertain how long his straining dick could cope with the lack of friction.

"Yeah, Dean, just fuck me." He grunted, feeling the loss of his brother's fingers. The tip of Dean's member grazed his waiting entrance maddeningly, before pressing in. Dean, still above him, held his hips tightly for leverage, as he took things inch by inch.

It felt like ages before he bottomed out, but when he did, it was a sensation like no other. The pressure alone was enough to want him to shoot his load, but he couldn't. Not yet. He barely regained his composure when he felt Sam move off a little, and shove back down. And if that wasn't the hottest sight he'd ever seen (once he opened his eyes, of course), then he wasn't sure what was.

He pushed himself to match, thrusting forward as Sam pressed down. They found a rhythm, not too slow, not too fast, and stuck with it. Their strangled gasps permeated the air, and Dean hoped vehemently that Bobby couldn't hear them.

"Dean, go…go faster. Ugh. Damn it! Fuck!" Dean quickened, sending his hips into a brutal pace for both of them. He re-angled himself, attempting to hit that one spot within Sam that would make him squeal. The noises, accompanied with Sam's arching back, told him that he accomplished it. And before Sam had time to warn Dean, he was coming between them.

Dean followed after, spilling his seed inside the tight heat that was his lover. Thinking coherently again, he hoped that his indulgence had somewhat lessened the edge for Sam. Speaking of Sam, he was pressing his lips against Dean's one last time, before falling back to the bed, fully spent.

"I love you, Dean." He vowed, reassuring his lover that everything was going to be alright.

"I love you too, Sammy." He mumbled, too tired to speak any louder, as he rolled to the side. Within minutes, both were asleep, falling into the comfort of the night.

* * *

Sam shot upright, the itch of withdrawal surging through his system. He needed it, badly. It didn't matter that Dean finally gave him what he wanted; it simply held off the sensation. The obnoxiously bright clock told him it was just after two a.m., a far cry from the morning, when he could wake Dean for help. So he decided to do what he had to.

He carefully crawled over the sleeping man, and stumbled over to their duffels. He pulled out everything he needed. The drugs, the lighter, the syringe, his spoon; it was all there in his hand, just waiting for him to use. He slipped out the door and down the hall to the restroom. He left it cracked as he turned the light on, assuming no one else would be awake at this time of night.

Sam cleaned the syringe, and then allowed his naked form to slide to the ground. The cool of the tile beneath him was a stark contrast to the burning he felt. It was maddening, as he was oversensitive. He needed to make it go away. Thus, he poured his powder onto the spoon, careful to only take a little. Dean would be disappointed in him, but what was left of his rational mind told him that it'd be worse if he OD'ed.

He brought the lighter to the bottom of the spoon, watching as the evil substance turned to liquid before his eyes. The lighter was abandoned in favor of the needle, which he used to suck it all up. He pushed it in to his arm, with little regard for checking to see if it was in his vein, and allowed the substance into his system. Within moments, he felt better.

But then, the door crept open, revealing a disheveled and disturbed Dean. He woke up from the sounds of the pipes, and the absence of his brother. He left their room, following the crack of light to the bathroom. What he saw was disheartening, at best. The drug stuff was strewn about the floor, and Sam was in his almost in his own world. Almost.

"De?" He sputtered, vague recognition apparent in his voice.

"Sam," He whimpered, sinking to the ground beside his brother, "why did you do this?" Sam looked over, tears once again spilling fourth.

"I woke up, and it was really bad. I needed it, Dean." He choked, laying his head down upon his brother's shoulder. Dean noticed that there was still some of the drug in the needle, which he picked up and placed to his own arm.

"What are you doing?" Sam demanded, fear blazing through his eyes.

"If I can't get you to stop, then I at least want to understand." He stated, fearful of what would come next.

"NO!" Sam shouted, grabbing the syringe away and chucking it clear across the room, into the tub. "Don't become what I have. I'll stop. I promise, no more, ever." His voice was pleading, as he fought the heaviness of his limbs. Bobby stepped in now, awoken by the noise.

"What's going on, Sam?" He kindly didn't ask about the fact that the younger boy was naked (Dean had the sense to put some pants on), while waiting for an explanation.

"I promise, no more." And that was that.


	5. Chapter 5

The next morning was awkward for everyone. Bobby busied himself making breakfast, while Dean stood there, unsure of what to do. Sam kept clear of the both of them, worried about what they might say. He slipped down into a chair in front of Bobby's old, battered desk, looking away from the kitchen. He couldn't bear the fact that he gave in, gave up, and they both knew about it. Even if he did agree that he was done, that he was going to go cold turkey, it didn't stop the complete sense of shame for the events of last night.

He noticed a stack of books on the edge of the desk, the top one suspiciously modern looking. He picked it up, examining the front cover. It was entitled "Heroin". By reading the back cover, Sam surmised that it contained all the basics of heroin usage and treatment, and that Bobby was probably trying to understand. It wasn't as if any of them knew off the top of their heads how to break such an addiction. He returned the book to the stack, turning to see that breakfast was on the table.

"Hey Sam," Dean caught his eye, "come eat your breakfast before it gets cold." Sam didn't protest (though he strongly wished he could), but simply got up and sat with his brother and Bobby. It seemed as if his two eggs were staring him down, as his stomach curled with tension. He didn't have to look to see that the two other men were staring at him as well. Eventually, Dean rose, claiming that he needed to go out to the store to get some stuff. Sam sat and listened, still avoiding his breakfast, as the door closed with a slight thud.

"I know you don't wanna talk about last night, boy, but you need to." Bobby declared.

"I know; I slipped up. That's all there is to it." Sam prodded his eggs with his fork, watching the center jiggle in protest.

"That's not all." Bobby pressed onward, "I heard you shoutin' about somethin'. What happened, Sam?" the younger hunter finally looked up at him, abandoning his breakfast altogether.

"Once Dean walked in on me, he saw that there was still some stuff in the syringe. He was going to take the rest for himself." Bobby sighed, frightened and unsure of Dean's intentions.

"I didn't want to let him do it. I know he hates to watch me, but I couldn't sit there and watch him poison himself. I know he was just trying to scare me into being better, but it was worse than that. It frightens me most that I can't figure out if he would follow through or not."

"Damnit." Bobby cursed under his breath, pushing his own plate away. "I know his heart's in the right place, but that boy is bein' a real idjit!"

"Yeah. Well, story of my life." Sam picked up the disregarded plates to bring to the sink.

"The look on your face says you're not tellin' me everything." He added. Sam set everything down, and turned back to him.

"Yeah, well if you knew everything, you'd throw us out on our asses." He folded his arms around himself, mildly disconcerted with the fact that he revealed as much as he had.

"Try me." Bobby countered, sitting back in his chair.

* * *

Dean felt the sprinkles of water caress his face as he made his way back to the impala. Bag full of groceries in his dominant hand, he scrambled with the other to get his keys out of the pocket on his opposite side. The mist was pleasant enough, but he still had no desire to be out when the rain really started. The sky was dark; enough to tell that it was going to be quite the storm.

After managing to get the door open, he threw the bag onto the seat, and slid in behind it. The engine roared to life as he turned the key in the ignition (one of his favorite sounds in the world), and he was off. He was eager to return to Bobby's, as he wanted to be with Sam. It seemed strange, but despite last night's drama, a quick trip to the store was all he needed to calm his anxiety. He knew that the road to a stable relationship with Sam would be bumpy, but he was still willing to try.

When he pulled back into the junkyard in front of the house, Bobby was standing at the top of the steps, worried expression marring his face. Dean furrowed his brow, unsure of what to make of it. Did Sam relapse again? Was he sick? Did he have some kind of a nervous breakdown? Surely if Bobby were waiting for him on the steps, it was about Sam. Thus, he stepped out into the pouring rain and rushed up to the elder hunter.

"What's wrong, Bobby?" He asked, breath catching in his throat from worry.

"It's Sam. He ran out on me. I tried to stop him, but he just kept runnin'. I figured you might know how to gettem' back better than I would." Dean ran his hands through his spiked, wet hair, tensing up, struggling to think. How could Sam do that?

"Which way'd he go?" he demanded, ready to spring into action. Bobby pointed to the woods, and the young man took off running. Sam may have still been semi-small, and awkward in his growing body, but he was fast. It would be a miracle if Dean could catch up to him. His only hope was that Sam would have stopped.

He sprinted, forcing blood and oxygen into his lungs as best as he could, ignoring the slap of the rain on his face, and the entire front of his body. The storm was really picking up, and he needed to find Sam. It was unsafe, and highly unhealthy to be out for extended periods of time in weather like this. Sam had hypothermia before, he should know better.

* * *

Sam skid to a halt in a clearing near the center, embracing the cold and wet that surrounded him. He collapsed, drawing in breath in the form of gasps, ignoring his sore legs. He'd run as far as his body would take him, as fast as he could, and it was still not far enough. He told Bobby the truth, and the man just stared at him. There were no words, but his silence spoke volumes.

Thus, he got out of there. It was all he knew to do. Dad had always taught them, "If you can't kill it, run." It seemed like he'd been running his whole life. He ran from what he couldn't handle. And that was what got him into all this mess to begin with. He tried to run from his feelings for Dean.

Sam was tired of running from everything. He was running from himself, too. He was a sick bastard with an addiction, and he couldn't accept it. Thus, he resolved to do what he had to; to end it, once and for all.

He slipped the pocket knife from his jeans, and brought it down firmly against one of his wrists.

* * *

Bobby sat inside, dreading the impending conversation he was about to have. The dial tone sounded in his ear, which was pressed firmly to the receiver of his personal phone. John had to know about Sam running away. Now, whether to tell the man of his son's incestuous relationship or not, he was still trying to decide on. He didn't want to be the one to tell him; that was for sure. But, it was important to the current situation. All hunter's knew that lack of information was a bad thing. Before he could decide, John picked up his phone.

"Hello?"

"Hey John, it's me, Bobby."

"What's wrong?" He could hear the tension in his friend's voice.

"When Dean went out to the store, Sam and I had a bit of a difficult conversation. Then, he ran out on me. Dean came back and is looking for him, but it's raining cats and dogs out there." He heard a sigh on the other end of the line.

"I just finished a case in Oklahoma, so I'll be out there as soon as I can. Please, please, call me if Sam turns up." John insisted.

"I will." With that, a click signaled the end of the call. He sincerely hoped that the boys came back before John arrived, for their sake, and his.


	6. Chapter 6

Sam couldn't bring himself to care that he felt cold as the blood dripped out of the vertical cut on his arm. It wouldn't take too much longer, as the chill of the air, and the rain pouring down on him assisted. It wasn't like he hadn't thought of it before; suicide may have been the coward's way out, but he'd already hit rock bottom. The drug use simply seemed like a jagged rock on the way down.

Dean would miss him, sure, but he needed to move on. Sam wasn't worth his time, if that was how he'd treat him. Bobby and Dad wouldn't understand, but they'd get on alright. He hated doing it to Dean, but it was the best way to protect him. Their relationship would send them straight to the special hell, reserved for incestuous fucks and rapists. Really, the difference for them was miniscule. Dean had always given Sam what he wanted, so why would a relationship be any different.

He didn't deserve Dean; the man, despite his mistakes and cheap one night stands, was far better than he. Similarly, his brother didn't deserve him, either. He deserved a happier life, one in which he didn't have to worry for his pain in the ass little brother. Thus, the numb he began to feel throughout his body was a relief. Someday, maybe Dean could forgive him.

* * *

Dean dashed through the woods, scanning the area for any hide or hair of Sam. When he picked up the trail, he sped up, despite the protest of his limbs and lungs. Finally, he spotted a dark figure in a clearing ahead, which he rushed to. Somehow, the feeling in his gut fueled him to go faster. He knew that it was bad. Sam looked limp, even from as far away as he was.

"No…" Dean whispered, unaware of his vocalization.

He dropped to the ground beside a pale boy, the shadow of his brother. Blood was everywhere, and it was plentiful. His eyes were closed, and his body was motionless. Dean gasped at the sight, still in shock of it all. His Sammy looked like death. The realization prompted the older boy to press his fingers on the younger one's neck, finding that there was indeed a pulse. It was feint, but enough.

The sight of the cut along his arm, coupled with the pocket knife lying beside his other arm, made it all obvious. Sam had done it to himself. It hurt to know that something as small as a talk with Bobby could make him freak out so badly; that he'd turn to this. Dean wasn't sure if it was out of need for relief, or for an escape, but either way, this was bad.

Dean quickly stripped his upper half, using his shirt as a makeshift pressure wrap, and his jacket to curl around him. He pulled Sam up into his arms, using one hand to push his brother's excessively long locks out of his face.

"Don't worry, Sammy. We're going home."

Sam vaguely heard his brother's voice through the fog he assumed was death. The voice was worried, but so familiar that it was a comfort, nonetheless. _This must be what heaven's like,_ he thought. Suddenly, he felt the warmth surround him, as if he were being held. It was pleasant.

And then it hit him. The pain in his arm returned, and he felt himself jostle. He knew that he was being carried, and he was unfortunately alive. It really was Dean, and he would have had to have seen the cut. Shit.

It was hard to say how long it took before he heard the other voices, and felt the press of a soft surface below him. It was nothing like the comfort that Dean gave him, but it was a welcomed change. His back ached from lying on the hard soil from before. The numb was a distant memory, and he was willing to take any sort of reprieve he could.

* * *

John arrived at Bobby's mere minutes before Dean was dragging his little brother through the front door. He hadn't even had time to ask about what had happened. Bobby had been somewhat vague on the phone. It was as if he were hiding something. In any event, the moment a rather panicked Dean barreled through to the living room, setting the boy down on the sofa, he no longer had time to think about it.

"What the hell is wrong with him?" John demanded, fearful of why Sam was unconscious, blue-lipped, and pale as a sheet.

"When I found him, he was bleeding pretty badly. He slit his wrist. I tried to stop the bleeding, but I don't know if I've found him in time. He hasn't woken up." Dean was staring off as he spoke, almost as if trying to disengage himself from the scene before him.

"Did he cut sideways, or up?" Bobby queried.

"Up. It's what you do when you're trying to kill yourself." Dean's calm voice hit John like a brick. He was worried that Sam had run away, and now he was dying on the couch. It was like a bad dream, suddenly made reality. Panic weaseled its way into his very core, causing his knees to buckle. He made no attempt to get up, staring straight at eye level at his younger son. He looked so peaceful, and yet, he seemed so gone.

"We need to get some blood in 'im." Bobby broke the silence, trying his best to think for the three of them. "And we need to get him out of the wet clothes. He needs to warm up." Without prompt or permission, Dean stalked over to the sofa and began to strip Sam of all of his wet garments, leaving him only in his boxers. The least he could do was offer a shred of dignity while Bobby was fetching something else for him. Then, he wrapped himself around his brother, careful of his self-injured arm, in order to provide temporary warmth.

* * *

Sam was internally perturbed at the cold sensation of what he was almost certain was nudity, but couldn't bring himself to care any longer as he felt another warmth. Skin against skin- he was sure of it. By the smell that accompanied it, it had to be Dean. He wanted so badly to touch, to comfort, but he couldn't get his body to move. He was (partially) there mentally, but that was all. There was no way he could let Dean know that he appreciated whatever it was he was doing.

"I'm so sorry, Sammy. I should have been there." Dean whispered into his ear.

_Its okay, Dean, you were. _He wished he could say; tried, with no avail.

"I'm supposed to protect you, bro. I failed." A single tear, one that was not his own, ran down Sam's cheek.

_Please don't cry. You did protect me. For a very long time, you've been protecting me. Now, it's my turn. _I_ failed. _

"I love you, Sam." He mouthed, practically pressed against his lover's ear lobe. If John heard anything and though anything of it, he was kind enough not to say.

_I love you too, Dean. _

* * *

Bobby came back, nudging Dean to let him know. The elder hunter gave him the stack of blankets and backed away, allowing the young lovers some space. He watched, heartbroken, as Dean carefully placed the blankets, layer by layer, over Sam, tucking them as best as he could. John, now standing beside him, watched with the same regard.

Sam looked so small, wrapped in his cocoon of comforters and quilts. One arm rested above the mass, elevated to keep the blood away. He was a teenager, lanky and awkward ordinarily. Now, he was reduced to this. None of the seasoned hunters had ever been so frightened, for Sam meant so much to them.

Dean's behavior, as brotherly as it was, made the situation seem even more dangerous. He was expressionless, and running on autopilot. Never before had he appeared more broken. Bobby and John watched him in awe, but also in anguish.

"If we need to give him blood, you can use mine." Dean spoke, much to his elders' surprise. "I have the same blood type as Sam." Bobby nodded at this, and went back upstairs to fetch his medical supplies.


	7. Chapter 7

Dean winced as the cold needle pressed into the crease of his arm, and Bobby's cold fingers brushed against him. He always did hate drawing blood, but it was necessary. The tube attached to the obscenely large needle had another needle on the other end, which was already pressed into Sam's uninjured arm. Bobby had silently stitched the boy's self-inflicted wound just after Dean cocooned him in blankets, so he wouldn't loose anymore of his dwindling blood. But, he still needed more.

Dean, despite his distinct distaste for needles, jumped at the chance to help Sammy. He had already given himself over, mind, body and soul, so what was a little of his blood? It was one of only three things he could give his brother at the moment (the other two being his continued presence, and comforting words). And if this was what it would take to make Sam get better, then damn it, he'd do it without a second thought.

But, Dean knew that the physical damage wasn't all he had to worry about. Once Sam wakes up, (which he will, Dean internally insists) there's still the matter of the suicidal tendencies. And who knows, the drugs might be, and probably are, still problematic.

And what the hell were Bobby and Sam talking about that caused his lover to run out? Had Bobby said something about the relapse? Or maybe, it had to do with the fact that when Bobby found the two of them in the bathroom yesterday night, Sam was naked. What if he called the younger man on it?

Or what if it had to do with Dad? He was here now. What if Bobby told him that Dad was coming, and Sam became frightened? Dean knew that their father wasn't truly angry at Sam, but it was plausible that Sam didn't. Dean had to know.

"So Bobby," He started.

"Yeah?" the elder hunter readjusted the needle in Sam, and turned to face him.

"What were you and Sam talking about before he ran out?" Bobby went pale.

"Maybe we should talk about it later." He suggested.

"I'm curious, too." John added, finally speaking again. Bobby sighed.

"If it's okay with you, John, I'd like to talk to Dean about it first." Suddenly, Dean felt as if his insides knotted up. John nodded, resigned to the fact that he wasn't going to find out right away. He stepped out onto the porch, allowing the other men the room.

Dean looked up, eyes full of fear and respect, to Bobby. Something about the way he looked made the man hesitate before speaking, but he knew that he had to say it anyways. Dean had a right to know, especially since it'd probably be his hide at the end of John's belt for this one.

"I knew that Sam wasn't telling me everything, and when I asked 'im about it, he said that I wouldn't understand." Bobby pulled up a chair, sitting directly in front of the two boys.

"I pressed him to tell me about it, and he told me ev'rything." Dean's eyes widened, full of shock. Was he saying what it seemed he was?

"He told me why he really took the drugs- how much he was in love with you an' all, how much it hurt when he saw you with all of those girls the past few years. Then, he told me that you felt the same, and that the two of you were gonna be together once he was clean. I know that the two of you got hot'n'heavy in the spare room last night to try to help distract him from his cravings, and that it didn't work. And when he finished, I just didn't know what to say. He freaked out, probably thinkin' I was angry or disappointed. Then, he dashed out before I could stop 'im."

Dean pondered the words that had just been said. Bobby knew the truth about them, and he knew pretty much everything. He could tell their father, and then, who knows what would happen. Dad hadn't hurt him for the drugs, but he would be completely justified in beating the shit out of the both of them for this. He probably wouldn't hesitate either.

"What are you going to tell our Dad?" He inquired.

"Well, I guess I gotta tell him the truth, but for the record, I'm not gonna tell him everything. I know it's not strictly morally right, but you and Sam only really have each other. I don't want to screw that up." Dean nodded, feeling a surge of love and appreciation for his second father.

"Now, I'm gonna take the needles out, 'cus I think Sam's got enough for now, and then you go bring your daddy back in here. I think it would be in your best interest to make yourself sparse when I talk to 'im."

* * *

Dean sat down at the top of the stairs, out of sight, but still close enough to hear everything that was being said downstairs in the living room. John waited until he heard Dean shut the door to the spare room (which he did so he could allow them to think he wasn't listening) to start.

"So what did Sam freak out over?"

"He finally told me the truth, and I was kinda stunned by it all. Because I didn't say anything, just sorta stared at 'im, he panicked and ran off."

"What did he tell you?" Bobby paused before replying, as Dean waited for the bomb to drop.

"You're not gonna like it, John."

"It can't be that bad. I can take it. Just tell me." Another pause, a bit longer than the first. Dean was sure that the next sentence or two out of Bobby's mouth would send John into a murderous rage.

"Sam started taking the damn stuff because he was _in love_ with Dean. At the time, he didn't think he could have him, but after he got caught with the drugs, he owned up to it. As it turns out, Dean loved him in the same way." The silence after that statement was maddening. His father knew, and he wasn't there to see if he was angry, disappointed, or what. For all he knew, his dad could be contemplating the best way to murder him right now.

"What else?" He sounded so calm.

"Dean told him that they wouldn't start datin', or whatever it is two boys do these days, till he was off the heroin. Well, that went out the window sometime after they got here."

"What does that mean?" Panic. Dean definitely sensed panic in his father's voice.

"Sam was havin' trouble with his cravings. Dean tried to help by taking his mind off of it. They…" Bobby cleared his throat, obviously uncomfortable with the words he was about to say. "They had sex."

"WHAT?" The chair he was probably sitting in scuffled against the floor in protest to what was surely him jumping up. There…there's the anger that Dean was afraid of.

"John!" The warning in his tone was there, and Dean breathed a sigh of relief. John had a good habit of listening to Bobby. "Now, I know it's not a normal thing, and I know it isn't exactly what most people would call right, but it's what they need. And if you try to force 'em apart, it'll end badly for all of ya'. It'll push 'em closer together, too."

"But what am I suppose to do!"

"Dad?" Sammy. It was Sam, and he was awake. Dean couldn't stop himself from dashing down the steps to his little brother. He knelt down by the sofa, ignoring the two elder men in the room.

"Sammy," Dean near pleaded, eyes watering. He pulled the younger boy into a tight hug, sensing that he was about to start crying too.

"I'm so sorry, De. I thought you'd all be better without me." His voice high, he choked back the tears.

"Never, Sam. Don't ever do that to me again." With that, Dean placed a strong kiss to his lover's cheek, taking comfort in the returning warmth of his skin. Sam used his good arm to pull Dean's chin back to him, kissing his lips, first gently, and then deeper.

Of course, an awkward John couldn't help but clear his throat to break up the moment.

"You two knuckleheads done?" He asked. They reluctantly pulled away from one another, momentarily staring into one another's eyes, and then facing their father.

"Yes, sir." Sam smiled, realizing that John hadn't killed them yet.

"Well," Bobby piped in. "You should probably bring Sam upstairs now that he's awake. And then, get yourself changed into some dry clothes, boy. You're gonna get yourself sick."

"Yes, Bobby." Dean replied. Without a moment's hesitation, he swooped Sam up into his arms, bridal style, and carried him up the stairs to the spare room.

"I think," John admitted, "that I need a drink."

"Me too." And with that, Bobby pulled out a bottle of the good stuff, and passed it on. It had been a long morning, but there was still a long bit of day to have to get through, and a hell of a lot to think about. Best not to do it on a clear head.


	8. Chapter 8

A/N: IT's been forever since I have thanked my wonderful beta, littlemissrosie. Thus, I shall once again do so. THANKS!  
And another thank you to my readers/reviewers. Your imput helps me improve future chapters. Therefore, please enjoy this new one.

* * *

Dean carefully placed Sam down onto the bed, pulling the comforters over him and re-tucking. After all, he may have been warming up, but he still had a ways to go. The older boy stripped out of his wet jeans and boxers, taking his shoes and socks with them. He was pretty much dry underneath them, so he placed some new boxers on, fresh from his bag, and slid onto the bed next to Sam.

"I take it you heard what Bobby said to Dad." Dean placed a gentle hand on Sam's shoulder, offering what consolation he could.

"I heard just about everything while I was out. I even remember feeling you carry me out of the woods. But for some reason, I couldn't move, open my eyes, or anything. You know, I wanted so badly to tell you that it wasn't your fault, and that I love you. That's what hurt the worst- knowing I couldn't tell you these things."

"Then why'd you do it?"

"Like Bobby said, I flipped. I was afraid that he would disown us." Dean gave a little chuckle.

"Bobby'd never disown us. And for the record, in case you weren't listening, Bobby's okay with us."

"I know that now." Sam pushed himself up on one elbow, so as to better see his lover. "But I couldn't be sure back then. I mean, he didn't say a word after I told him. He stood there all wide-eyed. It really freaked me out!"

Just then, there was a knock on the doorframe. Dean hadn't bothered to shut the door, so he saw right away that their Dad was there, drink in hand, already looking like he'd gone three rounds with Jack and Jose. He looked fairly mellow, though he and Sam both knew that that could change at any time.

"I've been thinking, and I need to talk to the two of you." He stated plainly staring longer at Dean than Sam. "It shouldn't have taken you, Sam, attempting suicide for me to accept that you two need each other more than I thought. Hell, if I'd have known about your relationship before all this happened, I probably would have done something stupid myself. But, if this is what you need, then I'll respect it." Sam nodded, surprise coursing through his veins, feeling stranger than Dean's blood.

"I don't wanna see it, though. Or hear it. Anything more than hand holding, and I think I'll puke." He smiled broadly, thinking of how weak his stomach was when it came to romantic shit. Considering all the other things he stomachs on a daily basis, it's kind of amusing.

"Dad?" Dean smiled as well, finally realizing that he wasn't about to get a fist to the face.

"Yeah, boy?"

"Thanks." Both men swelled with pride at the elder's acceptance of the situation. And with that, John left, heading back downstairs to Bobby (and his booze), leaving his sons to themselves.

* * *

As the boys napped, someone watched them from afar. He had been watching them since their births, knowing one day he'd finally meet them. He was their protector, hiding in the shadows, watching and guiding until they were needed for the apocalypse. The Winchester lifestyle had provided him with many challenges, many opportunities to serve his purpose.

He knew he'd have to protect Dean and Sam from demons, spirits, and supernatural creatures they hunted down. But, he never expected to have to save Sam from himself. He knew of their affections towards one another, and he knew that Sam was not as good at ignoring them. He felt sorrow for the boy's pain in that regard, though he shouldn't feel anything at all. Then, Sam took the heroin. He thought that it was helping Sam, and for a time, he allowed it to go on. But then it led to this: Sam tried to kill himself.

He would have succeeded, if not for Castiel.

* * *

Bobby called for pizza about a half hour ago, ordering three, because he knew that his company really liked to eat. Well, Dean and John did, anyways. They'd likely eat at least one half of a decent Italian pie any chance they got. It probably wouldn't help that they skipped lunch, and that Sam hadn't eaten breakfast, either.

The rustling from upstairs told him that one or both boys were up, and he knew from experience that they'd come looking for food sooner or later. The damned pizza guy was running late. The pizzeria where he ordered from was only five minutes a way, for Christ's sake!

Sitting on the sofa, trying to wait patiently, both Bobby and John silently cursed the fact that they didn't have dinner yet. That's when it happened. A flutter of wings, and then Bobby was asleep.

John stood out of pure instinct, drawing the gun out of the back of his pants.

"Hello, John." The thing spoke. The light it emanated was blinding, but somehow, it didn't hurt.

"What are you?" John inquired, too frozen to attack.

"I am an angel of the Lord." It replied.

"Why are you here, and what the hell have you done to my friend?"

"Bobby is unconscious. I needed to speak to you alone, and it was the easiest way. I also needed to make sure he didn't see me. Most humans are not capable of perceiving my true form without severe physical damage."

John stood there, still uncharacteristically petrified.

"It is my duty, as dictated from the highest levels of authority, to protect your sons."

"And you protected Sam today, didn't you." He finally lowered his weapon, sensing that the angel was no threat to him.

"Yes. I helped to stop the bleeding, while giving Dean the energy to run until he found Sam. I was worried that Dean would not make it to him in time."

"Not that I'm ungrateful or anything, but why? Why are you protecting Dean and Sam?"

"At this point in time, I am not authorized to tell you. It could damage the timeline in ways we cannot predict. Please trust me when I tell you that they are important. I will always be watching out for them."

"Alright." What else could he say? John felt relatively certain that, if not disturbing, the fact that his boys had a guardian angel was a bit comforting. Their lifestyle was a dangerous one, and Mary wouldn't like it. She always believed that the angels were watching over them, though, and if she were here, she'd be relieved.

"I did not just come to tell you this, though. We need to discuss the implications of what has happened today."

"If I didn't know better, I'd think we were about to talk about Sam's feelings." He chuckled, sitting back down on the sofa.

"In a way, we are."

"Oh." The angel remained standing, but moved closer.

"Both of your son's need you to be supportive at the moment. If you aren't, Sam will not recover. He will keep harming himself, and in turn, Dean. It is imperative that you allow their relationship to flourish." Before John could get out another word, the light was gone, and Bobby was coming to. It was either a strange dream, or the most bizarre encounter he's ever had, but John knows that the stranger spoke the truth.

* * *

Dean came barreling down the stairs a few minutes after the pizza arrived, walking briskly into the kitchen, nearly knocking down his father to get at it. John looked mildly annoyed, but stepped aside just the same. After all, he knows better than to stand between that boy and his food. Anyone who knew Dean could swear that he was a human garbage disposal. He ate like he had no bottom to his stomach.

"Is Sammy coming down for some?" he asked his elder son.

"Nah, he's a bit weak to be going up and down the stairs. I'm just gonna bring him some." Dean stepped inside, pulling two plates out of the cabinet.

"Hey, why don't you just take a whole one upstairs, and I'll bring up something for you guys to drink." After all, there was a lot to carry! Not to mention, the stranger's words still coursed through his head. He needed to be supportive, and to start, he figured he should be there for them. A simple gesture like bringing up some soda wouldn't hurt.

"Thanks, Dad." Dean did as suggested, placing the two plates on top of a closed box of pizza, shuffling past his father, and Bobby, who had come to get some for himself.

John smiled as he watched Dean scale the stairs, thinking of how everything might not be as bad as it seems. After all, Sam had Dean now, in all the ways that matter.


	9. Chapter 9

The next few days were strange for John, to say the least. The day after the suicide attempt and the appearance of the angel, the three Winchester boys said their goodbyes to Bobby and loaded up into the Impala. They were headed to Ohio, where John had rented a small, two-bedroom apartment for the month. The boys needed downtime, and there was a lot going on in the vicinity in regards to demonic activity.

Something seemed a bit off in the car, and after a while of thought, John came to the conclusion that it was because Dean wasn't riding shotgun like he usually did. No, instead he was in the back seat with Sam, exchanging significant glances when they thought he wasn't looking. As much as it still disturbed him that his sons were in an incestuous relationship, he had to admit, it was kind of nice to see them smile.

They didn't speak to one another with words from their mouths, because they really didn't need to. Their eyes held all the words of love they couldn't articulate. And John watched as Sam slowly inched his hand across the leather seat, wrist still bandaged in stark white gauze, taking Dean's hand in his. Both boys looked content as soon as they made physical contact.

They are positively in love, and John can't help but get caught up in all the euphoria.

* * *

When they stopped for the night in a small town in Illinois, John rented two separate rooms (hoping they were far enough away that he wouldn't hear anything), content to allow his boys their space. After all, they were almost fully grown, and Dean was better equipped to handle Sam's issues than he was. Not to mention, John knew Dean was just as capable a hunter as he, and should anything find them there, he knew Dean could take care of it. Thus, he handed Sam their room key, and handed Dean a canister of salt.

They all took their bags, John to room 4, Sam and Dean to room 7.

Dean looked around as Sam pushed the door open. The room was small, most of the space dominated by a king sized bed, but it was cozy and clean. The walls were a mild blue, reminding him of the sky, and the bedding was white and beige. Sam dropped his bag down by the bathroom, and returned to sit on the edge of the bed.

"Dude. Are you gonna come in, or are you just gonna stand there with the door open?"

"Uh, yeah." Dean smiled, pulling the door closed, locking it behind him before reaching for the salt. Sam watched in silent contemplation as his lover poured salt lines at the door and on the windowsill. He watched as the muscles played subtly beneath Dean's t-shirt, hinting only slightly at the strength he knew the man possessed. He could almost remember the feel of his hands on Dean's skin, traveling up his back, memorizing every muscle as they made love.

Before he realized, Dean was standing upright again, looking at him.

"See something you like, Sammy?" He smiled knowingly.

"I, uh, well…yeah." Sam silently cursed himself for zoning out so badly, when he realized that Dean was now standing in front of him, placing warm hands to his hips. They were so close that it was maddening; lips brushing together, and Sam couldn't keep his eyes open if he tried. But then Dean was kissing him, gently moving his lips in synchronized moves with Sam's, and placing a knee to rest on the bed between his legs. Sam moaned into the kiss, allowing the space his lover needed to slip his tongue in.

Urgent pleas from their hardening lengths prompted Dean to use his hands to push Sam upward on the bed, following to rest on top of him. Sam pulled fruitlessly at the hem of Dean's shirt, then settling to caress every bit of his lover's torso he could lay his hands on. Eventually, it was Dean who got them out of their clothes, breaking their heated kisses to do so. Sam always pulled him right back down, though, by his arm around Dean's waist.

They found themselves pressed together, chest to chest, hips rolling against the other's before either of them had time to think about it.

"Dean, please?" He knew exactly what Sam wanted, suddenly remembering that the lube was still in his bag by the door.

"Gotta get something first." Dean whispered against his lips, much to his dismay. But, he watched, view unhindered by fabric this time, as Dean bent down, pulling the tube he was looking for out of his bag. Sam spread his legs wide in anticipation as Dean slinked up the bed with the lube in hand. Sam demanded kisses, moaning wildly as he felt slicked fingers pressed firmly against him. It turned him on so much, it was a wonder he hadn't come already.

Dean pressed onward, fighting back his own groans of pleasure as he tried to be gentle. But Sam was so warm and tight around his fingers; he really wanted to go onward. After he felt the relax of Sam's muscles, he added a third finger, scissoring and twisting along the way.

Sam thrashed under him as Dean took the head of his cock into his mouth. It felt incredible; somehow it was even better than the first time that they did this. Dean was bolder, knowing what Sam liked, exactly how to touch him, and that he wasn't going to shy away afterwards. It was pure ecstasy, and Dean hadn't even really started yet.

Dean sucked continuously, drawing from all the experiences where he was on the receiving end, hoping that Sam liked the same things in a blowjob. But then again, he wasn't even sure Sam had a blowjob before. He pressed his head down a bit taking a bit more, before using his fingers to find Sam's sweet spot. He knew he had succeeded when Sam bucked his hips upward, sending his rather large cock to the back of Dean's throat.

"Shit!" Sam near screamed, willing himself back down onto the mattress.

"Are you ready, Sam?" Dean had pulled off with a pop to ask.

"Hell yes." Sam breathed in reply. And then he did something unexpected. He grabbed the lube from Dean's hand, squirting it onto his own. Dean sat patiently back on his knees, awaiting his brother's hand on his hardened dick. The lube was cold against him as Sam's fingers wrapped hesitantly around him, moving to cover every bit of him with slick. When he finished, the excess was carelessly wiped on the sheets, and Dean pressed him back down to the bed.

Sam looked so inviting; long, lean legs spread for him, body relaxed, lips plump from kissing, and piercing hazel eyes glazed over with want. He lined up, watching Sam bite at his bottom lip in anticipation.

Sam felt the breach of his body the same way he had felt winter air cutting through his worn out jacket. It's a harsh, breathtaking feeling, and somehow, it feels too good to complain. Inch by inch he's stretched open wide, and Dean's back over him, kissing and nipping at his neck. And when Dean was halfway in, he thrust forward, bottoming out with a moan.

It burned a bit, but hurt considerably less than last time. Dean gave him all the time he needed, hips twitching with urge, waiting until Sam nodded to proceed.

When the nod came, Dean pulled out to the tip, and slowly pushed back in. The pace was maddening, but the way Dean caressed his hip bone, he knew it was just out of love. He slowly upped the pace, and Sam moved his hips to match, working in tandem with his lover for release.

And it was beautiful.

The way they moved together, moaned in response to one another. There were few words to describe it. Perfect might be one. However, neither could think coherently as they pushed against each other, winding up towards climax. Their lips once again found each others, and swallowed the moans as they danced together.

Sam came first, spilling his release between the two of them. His muscles clenched around Dean, unraveling him as well. He stroked through both of their aftershocks, and then settled to the side.

No words were exchanged this time around. No one said 'I love you". Neither needed to. It was simply a fact, and their eyes once again conveyed it. Sam knew in that moment that, despite all he had done, he would always be loved.

* * *

John trudged along the wet cement walkway towards room 7 the next morning, coffee in hand, intending to wake the boys for breakfast. He gave a solid three knocks to the cold gray door, and waited.

Dean quickly scrambled out of bed, careful not to jostle Sam too much as he slid his arm out from under him. He grabbed yesterday's jeans from the floor and put them on, zipping up as he checked the peephole. When he knew it was their father, he unfastened the locks and opened the door a crack, attempting to hide the bed from John's sight. After all, Sam was still spread out, naked, barely covered by the tangled sheets. Were he still in bed, Dean would be tangled around him too.

"Morning." Dean smiled, poking his head out.

"Morning. Is your brother up yet?" He inquired, sipping cautiously at his steaming cup.

"No, sir, He's still asleep."

"Well, you should wake him. We're going for breakfast as soon as the two of you are ready."

"Yes, sir." He nodded, about to shut the door.

"Dean?" John stopped him.

"Yeah, Dad?"

"Shower, please. You smell like sex." He suppressed a laugh as he walked away, leaving his elder son wide-eyed and blushing.


	10. Chapter 10

A/N: Sorry this chapter has taken so long! I've been kinda busy as of late. Also, it's shorter than the rest. Hopefully, it will be sufficient, though. Read and Review, please, because reviews truly are love!

* * *

Dean, once again, opted to sit in the back seat with Sam rather than riding shotgun, and it made John smile. For a moment, he remembered what it was like when they were smaller, younger. They'd keep in their own space during the day, but after it had been dark for a while, and they thought he wasn't thinking, he'd see one of them slide over to the other, and they'd cuddle up. More than once, he'd kept driving longer than he wanted just to watch his boys through the rearview mirror. It was, after all, a wonder how innocent they remained back then, despite their lifestyle.

"Are we gonna get going, Dad?" Sam asked impatiently.

"Yeah, Sammy. I just…nevermind." He pulled out of the halfway-decent motel parking lot, and headed for the nearest diner.

When they arrived, the elder two ordered the greasiest breakfast items on the menu, while Sam stuck to pancakes and strawberries. After flirting with the waitress (_some things just never change_, Sam thought ruefully), Dean reassured his lover by taking his hand. Hidden by the table, neither really thought that their father would notice. But, when the food arrived and Dean tried to eat with the wrong hand, it became obvious.

"Come on, boy. Eat right." John insisted. Dean grumbled.

"Awww, Dad!" He whined, "Why can't I just eat this way?" And John gave him the look, the look that meant 'You best do what I say, boy'. It was usually reserved for Sam. Begrudgingly, he slid his hand out of Sam's and flexed it a few times before taking up his fork.

To John, Sam looked momentarily amused with the situation, and then down right disappointed. Sam felt exactly that, and so much more. The sudden emptiness of his hand was uncomfortable; it was as if he were missing something vital. He continued prodding his waffles, no longer feeling much like eating them.

John noticed this, too.

"Sam, I swear, if you don't eat your breakfast, I won't stop for you to get something along the way. We're not getting another meal until we get to Ohio."

"I know, but I'm not hungry."

"Bullshit, boy, you were hungry just a minute ago. You're just pissed that I won't let you hold hands with Dean at the table."

"Maybe, but it doesn't stop the fact that I've lost my appetite." John sighed, deciding to leave it be. Honestly, in the back of his mind, he knew the whole "Dean and Sam" relationship thing would test him in ways he couldn't really imagine, but he wasn't ready yet to lay down all the ground rules. Perhaps, if he didn't go crazy by then, they could talk it all out.

When they got back out on the road, Dean compensated for the lack of hand holding in the diner by sitting smack dab center of the back seat. He looked like he was crowding Sam, but Sam didn't seem to mind. _Of course he won't mind, _John thought ruefully. Suddenly, this relationship was getting old. He missed having his sons, who got on his last nerve with their witty banter and jokes in jest.

He did his best to ignore them, but somehow every time he looked in the rear view mirror, his eyes zeroed in on the way their thighs made contact, and the way their long fingers interlaced on top of them. Then John would look back to the road, feeling a mix of anger (for having to condone this), sorrow (what would Mary think?), jealously (missing Mary now…), and spite (because he knew that's what they were doing…spiting him for the diner incident).

* * *

Castiel watched, as always, from afar. He saw how John was acting. He knew that his visit only temporarily aided the situation, and now John was starting to meltdown. He'd hoped that he wouldn't have to make a return visit, but at this rate, he just might.

Or perhaps he'd just have to show the hunter what's at stake.

* * *

When the Winchesters reached their destination in Ohio, they quickly found the apartment complex that they were renting in. By the looks of it, Sam could tell that it wasn't that old. There were a few in this tucked away space behind one of the main roads of the town, and John pulled up to the farthest one down. It was brick, two storied, and somewhat shadowed by the large trees that surrounded the complex.

They made their way inside, all the way to the last door on the left, bright red with a brass number 9 on it. John handed each of the boys a key, and then took his own to admit them.

"Don't make me regret this, but there are two bedrooms. The smaller one is right at the beginning of the hall, and the master bedroom's down the hall. You guys can share that one."

Sam smiled for the first time since Dean grasped his hand at breakfast.

"Thanks, Dad." Dean near whispered.

"I'm gonna go get us some lunch, and when I get back, I expect all these bags to be in their places." He nodded to their duffels they had dragged in with them. "later, we need to do some weapons maintenance."

"Yes, sir." Dean replied. Without another word, John left, locking the door behind him.

"Well, Sammy. You heard the man. Help me with these?" The pleading look on his face made it apparent that he really didn't care to do it on his own, as he usually did.

"Or, you could do it yourself, and I can make it worth your while later…" Sam countered, mischievous grin plastered on his face. Dean contemplated it for a moment before responding.

"Deal."

* * *

When John exited the complex, he wasn't where he should have been. There was no sign of the Impala, and certainly no sign of anyone else. He turned around, noticing that the apartment building was gone. Suddenly, he knew where he was- a graveyard.

"This, John Winchester," A voice spoke, "is the future. It is very important that you watch."

He sensed he knew the voice, or rather, the voice behind the voice, but he couldn't be sure. It belonged to a brilliantly-blue eyed man in a beige trench coat, who was now standing directly beside him.

"This is the year 2009. The apocalypse has started, and Michael and Lucifer are about to meet here for the final battle." Suddenly, a very tall man appears out of seemingly nowhere. He turns, and John realizes he knows him.

"Sam."


	11. Chapter 11

A/N: This chapter has a bit more dialogue than I am used to writing into a chapter, but do not fret! The next chapter is already in the works! Also, I apologise if this chapter seems a bit slow. There was just some stuff that John needed to deal with in this chapter. Reviews? I love reviews! Good, bad, anything! Drop me a line; let me know what you think!

* * *

John drove the Impala a bit haphazardly, still in shock of all the angel had shown him. One day, Sam would become Lucifer, because he was a "vessel", or some shit like that. He and Dean, and some poor kid named Adam were entangled with the apocalypse, and they were the only ones who cold stop it. Their best hope? Dean and Sam's relationship- that was their best hope.

John had just watched his son go to hell, willingly, for Dean. Now, John had to go through his own personal hell to try to ensure that it happened. Or maybe, that the entire apocalypse could be avoided some other way. But the bottom line was that he'd have to let Sam and Dean be together.

Suddenly, it seemed like a good idea to think about the ground rules. After the dinner he'd just gotten them, there were weapons to be cleaned. That was as good a time as any to talk to them.

* * *

Dean sunk into the overly-plush couch in the middle of the living space, patting the space directly beside him in silent invitation. Sam joined him, pressed his body against his lover's, and set his head in the crook of his neck. Dean wrapped his arms loosely around him, heaving a sigh of contentment.

"You know what, Sam?"

"What?" The (barely) smaller boy whispered in reply.

"Just a week ago, I thought that we'd always just be brothers. And look at us now, huh? We're cuddling up like we've been together for years."

"In a way, we have been. We've loved each other at least that long."

"Yeah, I know, it's just strange." Dean placed his head atop Sam's, only moving off when he heard the key turning in the door.

A highly disgruntled looking John Winchester stepped in, bags of food in hand.

"Come on, boys. Dinner time." He warned. Dean slipped off the couch to join his father, who was now at the small table against the side wall. Sam did the same, sitting facing the wall, while John and Dean had already taken their places opposite each other.

Hoagies and fries were passed around, as were beers (because he knew they could all use one before the conversation after dinner), and they fell into companionable silence. Sam took his beer hesitantly, unsure of what to make of this development in relation to his father (as Dean had been slightly older when John had allowed him his first beer), but a smile from Dean was all he needed to stop questioning it. He took his first sip, and was pleasantly surprised that he didn't gag.

"Atta boy, Sammy!" Dean cheered.

Nothing more was said for the duration of the meal, which was not uncommon when their father was around. The boys, however, had no idea that it was for any other reason than their father's personality. Thus, they found themselves surprised when John told Dean to get the knives and guns from the car, and Sam to get their cleaning supplies. Ordinarily, he'd have done it himself, and simply expected his sons to join in on the work.

"Before we start in on these," he indicated the stuff they had just dragged in, "We've got some things we have to talk about." Sam's eyes widened considerably, fearful of what was to come, where as Dean just dropped his head, determined not to give any reaction.

"I know you've noticed that I've been having a bit of a hard time accepting the way things are between the two of you now. That has to change. Therefore, for my benefit, we need to set up some ground rules." Both boys remained silent.

"Firstly, I don't want to see too much. I know I've already told you that, but you guys haven't been very good about sticking to it. The little handholding stunt in the restaurant was too much. It looks too suspicious, and we can't have anyone calling the cops on us because you two are getting a bit too friendly when it's obvious we're a family." Dean nodded, and Sam remained silent.

"I don't wanna hear it, either. The walls are well insulated, so in your room, you'll be fine. But if I ever hear the two of you going at it out here, or heaven help me, in the shower, there will be consequences." Sam gulped.

"In the car, unless you're napping, keep to your own side of the seat." John paused. "As much as I hate to admit it, it made me more uncomfortable to see the two of you up against each other in the car every time I looked in the rearview mirror than it did to see you together in the restaurant."

"And finally, no one other than Bobby can know about this. Not Pastor Jim, not Caleb, not no one, you hear?"

"Yes, sir." They replied in unison.

"Good. Now let's get these weapons clean."

* * *

Later that evening, Dean slid under the soft covers of his and Sam's bed, with a drowsy Sam already in it. He pressed his lips firmly to his lover's forehead, closing his eyes to enjoy the sensation. Once he'd kissed the younger boy, he pressed his forehead against his.

"Sammy?"

"Yeah, De?" He said, only vaguely aware of what he was saying.

"I love you, little brother."

"Love you too. Now go to sleep." He mumbled. Dean chuckled in response, curling himself around the warmth of his young lover.

Hours later, in the wee hours of the morning, Sam woke with an insatiable need. An itch his was all too familiar with. So, he slipped out of bed and pulled the small pouch with his supplies out of Dean's bag. He quietly exited the room, and locked himself into the small bathroom between his and his father's room.

* * *

John was a light sleeper. He always was. Well, at least since Dean was five. And with all he had on his mind, it was no wonder that he woke with the hushed close of a door. He knew instinctively that it was just one of the boys, but he'd gotten up to check it out anyways. He made sure all the salt lines were still intact, and that the doors were locked (because they had more to worry about than just the supernatural busting down their door.) Then, he moved back to stand outside the bathroom door.

The light seeping out from the bathroom door bathed him in soft light, making it possible for him to wake a bit more fully. He'd no idea how long it was before he heard anything from the bathroom, but when he did, it was soft sobs. They were most undoubtedly Sam's, and with all that had happened recently, he couldn't help but intervene.

Thus, he found himself knocking lightly at the door and speaking softly, "Sam? Are you alright?"

He was prepared to be told to leave him alone, but what he didn't expect was for Sam to open the door, teary eyed and frightened.

"Dad." His voice cracked as he reached to clutch at his father, sobbing into his worn nightshirt. John hugged him back hesitantly. He couldn't remember the last time he hugged Sam, which was disappointing to say the least, but he didn't want to cause Sam to pull away. It was obvious that he needed someone right now.

"I was going to do it again, Dad," He choked out, "But I couldn't." Peering over his shoulder, he knew that Sam was talking about the drugs. The damned heroin that started all this mess. "I can't flush it either. It won't go away, but it's because I won't let it. I can't. I still need it!" He spoke a bit more loudly than intended. That's when Dean padded out of their room, rubbing his eyes.

"Sammy? What's going on?"

"I'm such a screw up, Dean!" He threw his words from the relative comfort and safety of his father's arms.

Dean wasn't sure he wanted to know what his brother was talking about, but he knew he needed to. "What happened, Sam?"

"I had the heroin all ready for me to take, but I couldn't do it. I won't do that to you again. But I just need it so badly!" He sniffled, trying to regain his composure, while trying to release the fistfuls of fabric he'd gathered of John's shirt. When he finally disentangled himself, he went straight to Dean.

"I need you, Dean. Take the edge off for me? Please?" He knew his father had heard every word, but the rules be damned. He needed this.

"Come on, Sammy. I'll make it better. I promise." He looked to his father hesitantly, who gave him a little nod of acknowledgement before returning to his room. "I'll make it better."

With that, Sam initiated a passionate, brutal kiss, and Dean followed suit, tangling his hands in Sam's long hair.

It was going to be a long night.


	12. Chapter 12

A/N: THIS CHAPTER IS INCOMPLETE!

I am posting what I have as a Christmas (or whatever holiday) Gift to all my readers and dedicated reviewers, specifically **BettyBoop73, CameoRoseLane, k-smith1983, NeoCortex, Lozo153, Shilo-Shadow, and velntricdragon. **That being said, this partial chapter is unbetaed. When I do finish it, I will pass it along to my lovely beta, **LittleMissRosie, **to look over before I repost.

* * *

Sam pushed Dean down to the bed with surprising ease and tenderness despite his burning need, never allowing their lips to part for more than a moment. The elder boy brought his hands to grasp the slender waist above him, pulling down to grind deliciously against warm flesh. Sam moaned into the kiss, using his own hands to trail up to his lover's shoulders. Oh, how he ached to pull himself closer. Which he did, of course.

Dean managed (somehow) to remove their boxers, allowing both of their erections to spring free and touch, sending shivers down his spine. Sam ground down against him, looking deeply into the twin green abysses that were Dean's eyes. Dean saw how Sam's eyes were glazed over with lust. He took the opportunity to roll them over.

Sam was flat against the mattress now, running his fingers through his lover's hair. He gasped wantonly as Dean broke the kiss and trailed new ones down to the nape of his neck. Even in his sex-haze, Dean knew that it drove Sam wild.

"Dean, I need it. Please!" He urged, reaching over for the lube. When he found it, he placed it on the bed beside them, hoping Dean would get the hint.

"I told you, Sammy," He whispered, liberally applying lube to three fingers, "that I'd make it better."

Suddenly two of the long, slender fingers were breaching him, filling him up, splitting him open. It shouldn't have felt that good, especially since both the previous times they hade done this, Dean had only went one at a time, but it did. The sting of it was a nice distraction.

Dean swallowed his lover's moan with another searing kiss, sloppier than he'd ever kissed before. And it so shouldn't be hot, but it is. Sam's body begged for his touch, and as much as he hated what sent him into this frenzy, he couldn't bring himself to care. Nor could he care that their father was just down the hall.

Sam knew instinctively that Dean had added a third finger, but he didn't really feel the sting. He was simply too far gone. He needed more. Sam pushed down, trying desperately to get Dean to go faster. Faster than he could process what was happening, he felt the fingers stroking him were replaced by the thick length of his brother. Moaning was no longer an option, as breathy gasps replaced them.

"God- Dean! Feels so good!"

Dean took the encouraging words to mean he could move. He pulled entirely out, and pressed back in quickly. He wasn't about to be gentle; after all, Sam needed to feel it.

"Fuck!" Sam cried out.

"That's the point!"

Sam fisted his hands into the bed sheets, much like he had with his father's shirt maybe five minutes before. This time, without the agony. He felt every stroke like a remedy to his ails and a balm for his aching body. It was overwhelming, sure, but it was bliss.

Dean re-angled his hips, assaulting Sam's sweet spot in every thrust. The sounds that Sam was making, accompanied by the delicious drag, forced Dean to the edge.

"Ugh…Sammy! So close!" He breathed, once again claiming his lover's lips, taking in his hand the leaking hard on between them.

Two more strokes and they were coming together, Sam screaming his lover's name as if it were the answer to life itself. Dean bit the pillow beside them roughly to muffle his scream. When it was over, Dean pulled out and rolled them to lie on their sides, still facing one another.

"Feeling better, Sammy?"

"Yeah, De," He nuzzled sleepily into the crook of his lover's neck, "I'm good."


	13. Chapter 13

A/N: Alright, you guys, happy new year! *hugs* This is the final chapter of my story, and I'm kind of sad to see it go. However, as soon as I finish my two Dark Angel stories, I will have the time to write entirely new pieces, and I've got some great ideas, if I do say so myself. Thus, I am also excited!

I'd like to take this opportunity to thank my wonderful and talented beta, Little Miss Rosie, whithout whom, I would not be the writer I am now. I'd also like to thank the readers, those of you who review, and have been here from the beginning. You guys encourage me so much! I doubt Fix You would have lasted this long without all of you.

Now, on to the reading! (And if you feel so inclined, some feedback/reviews would be rather nice!)

* * *

John Winchester had hearing above that of a normal human's. He had to- his life often depended on it. He just wished as he lay upon his bed, pillow pressed roughly over his head, that he could block out the noises his sons were making in the other room.

He thought that the walls were thick enough, but evidently he was wrong. He also knew that Sam needed Dean right now, so he couldn't say anything. It was better for the hunter to suffer in his own silence then to allow his sixteen year old son fall back on his drugs.

And while it was not part of his assignment, Castiel, once he realized what was happening, muted the eldest Winchester's hearing, so as to spare him the screams of pleasure at the end.

* * *

The next morning, Dean trudged out of his and San's room in nothing but a pair of loose fitted, grey sweatpants. His father had already left and brought back doughnuts and coffee from the local supermarket, and was sitting at the table with some. He looked tired, and Dean instantly felt guilty. No doubt, it was too loud for him to get any decent rest the night before.

"Where's Sam?" He asked, taking a sip of his coffee.

"Still sleeping. I figured I'd let him get up when he wants."

"Well, I'm leaving as soon as I finish; I found a hunt about an hour away. Probably a poltergeist. I'll be gone for a week, tops." The whole time he spoke, he didn't look at Dean once. He stared blankly ahead, unsettling his elder son.

"Alright, Dad. Do you want me to wake Sam up so you can say goodbye?" He ventured.

"No." He near whispered. "Let him sleep." With that, John took one final swig from his mug, grabbed his bag from beside the sofa, and left. He didn't even say his customary "Watch out for Sammy."

Dean sat down where his father had been, and set his head in his hands. Obviously, they still had some issues to work through.

* * *

When Sam finally got up, it was around noon. He dressed quickly, thinking over how grateful he was that Dean's 'distraction' from the night before was enough to shake the cravings. He was so lost in thought that he didn't realize until much later that he was putting on Dean's clothes rather than his own. It didn't really matter, though, because he was just as tall as his brother now, and he managed to find his own belt, which kept the pants on his overly narrow waist.

When he left their bedroom, fully clothed, he found his brother lying lazily across the sofa.

"Mornin', Sammy." He smiled hesitantly.

"What happened?" He asked in a flat tone. He knew that face- the one Dean made when something just wasn't right between the three of them.

"Dad left on a hunt."

"Yeah, he does that. What happened?" He asked again, trying to get to the root of the problem.

"He didn't look at me. I mean, he always talks like that, saying only what he needs to, but he usually will at least say it _to me_, as opposed to _at me_. I think he's still bothered by us, and that we need to be quieter when he's here."

"Oh." Sam mumbled, feeling rather melancholy for the both of them.

"Yeah, and he should be gone for a week, which in dad speak, means two." Dean smiled then, sitting up and inviting Sam over with his eyes. Sam plopped down with him and wrapped his arms lazily around his brother's middle.

"He'll come around, but in the mean time, that gives us two weeks alone." Sam smirked.

"Exactly." Dean leaned over, and initiated a slow, open mouthed kiss.

* * *

John was driving on I-90, blaring Blue Öyster Cult through the speakers. Specifically, the song "Burning for You". He openly scoffed at the lyrics "I'm living for giving the devil his dues". He really hated what his sons would have to do.

But they had each other, right? Well, if he kept acting like a petulant child when Dean and Sam tried to do anything, they wouldn't. If he knew anything, it was his boys. If he pushed them far enough, Dean would crack and end it all, and Sam would become bitter. It would drive a wedge between them. It would do everything that the angel warned him not to let happen.

So what if they were brothers? Sure, it was not the norm, but since when has their family been normal? Their nomadic lifestyle allowed them to deviate from the rules of society, and that was precisely what Dean and Sam were doing. They could be doing worse.

They always had each other before, and they'd have each other yet. And at the end of the day, nothing else matters. If they found love in each other, there was no way in hell that John Winchester would try to sabotage that. It's what they needed, and they would have it.

They were both broken before, but mended each other; completing the other by coming together to be one.

_Lights will guide you home, and ignite your bones, and I will try to fix you. _-Coldplay


End file.
